screaming goat.


Such a strange word.

A nonexistent speck

screaming to be heard.

You can only see it

when you're not looking.

I see my mother cooking,

but I know she's not there.

Just for that, I pull my hair.

There's blood on the carpet.

She'd yell at me for that.

Not by weapons or combat,

but a little girl

pondering the word, "missing"

just too gripping.

I want to be my mother,

and my brother,

just anyone but me.

I wish I had the right

to say, "we."

I will always be here

counting the days

until I stop thinking,


  • Author: Screaming goat (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 24th, 2022 15:50
  • Comment from author about the poem: I thought of this on one of my rabbit trails in my thoughts, so it may or may not make sense.
  • Category: Forgiveness
  • Views: 13
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  • Draven

    Interesting write, it calls out and has a longing to it. Well done

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